


Best Beloved

by orphan_account



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OFC alert. I'll try not to make her a Mary Sue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Beloved

The first time Jarvis questioned Ana, when she first came to the Grid, she had been alert. In top form. She had told the truth — she knew better than to lie to this creature, whatever the hell he was — but with the best possible spin as regards her self-preservation and esteem.  
  
After the "unfortunate incident," in this latest "debriefing," Ana's answers were flat and literal. She had no energy for spinning. She floated in that flat gray space where zombies dwelt. Occasionally she was shaken out the undead dimension by hysterical weeping. Jarvis bore this patiently. He probably saw it all the time. These spells of human feeling passed quickly. She would resume non-feeling (except for great relief at the loss of emotional torment), dry her eyes, and continue her computer-style replies: Yes. No. I don't know. When clarification was required, she answered as briefly as possible.  
  
Even in zombie-land, she wondered if this line of questioning would have roused her ire Before. (Her life was now split into Before and After.) It wasn't like she enjoyed discussing her reproductive system. Hell, she wasn't a doctor. Maybe her injuries had caused the miscarriage. But maybe it would have happened anyway. Sometimes women lost babies for no apparent reason. Sometimes women held onto their babies under the worst of conditions. There was just no way of knowing exactly why she'd lost hers.  
  
My baby, Ana thought. My son. _Our_ son.  
  
She was relieved that she remained a zombie, even with this thought in mind. Maybe she was getting better. Maybe she was turning into a program. Well, strictly speaking, that's what she was already. She was no expert, but she knew that much. Her digitized form was an extremely complex program, but it was still a program. A walking pile of ones and zeroes. An imitation of a human being.  
  
Realistic enough to get knocked up, though. Seemed that was a big deal, getting preggers on the Grid. From the whispers, that hadn't happened since Clu had wiped out the ISOs. Which was a long, long time ago. Ana had no idea what "a thousand cycles" was, but it was plenty long.   
  
"Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you're the one I need …" she sang under her breath. God, what she wouldn't give for just one of her Johnny Cash albums. Somewhere in her MP3s of country, blues, gospel, bluegrass … there must be a song that covered her situation. Maybe Bad Blake wrote one when he was good and drunk. Drunker than usual, that is. "I used to be somebody, but now I am somebody else …" No, alcohol would not suffice. You'd have to drop acid to write a song about being dragged onto the Grid.  
  
Ana would like some alcohol or acid right now. She could imbibe all she liked now. Being as she wasn't pregnant any more.  
  
She burst into heaving sobs. Jarvis sighed and waited out the storm. Eventually it calmed, and the "debriefing" continued. Yes, she could have another baby. Unless something had got messed up inside. That happened sometimes. No, she didn't know if she was messed up. She could not tell. It was all inside.  
  
Ana had to give Jarvis credit. He was an expert interrogator. No need for violence or even threats; just two civilized beings having a nice, quiet chat. Their conversation was almost friendly. He leisurely teased out any possible contradictions or overlooked data. But she could not help but notice that they were covering the same territory now. He kept at it from different angles, but it all boiled down to: Could she conceive again? Could she carry to term and deliver? She regarded Jarvis passively. An angry little voice in her head sniped, I'm a secretary, not a doctor. She told that voice to shut up. She could not afford anger.  
  
She wondered if her beloved boss had any idea what he'd got her into. Never mind; it didn't matter. What mattered was, she’d been nothing to him but a guinea pig. It was pathetic, really. Such a cliché. The secretary falls for her boss, and he screws her in every sense of the word. Well, one day this guinea pig would escape the Grid, and then… No jury would convict her. Even if they did, it would be worth it.  
  
There was no fire to this thought. No anger. Just cool determination. It was a goal that helped her keep going. It was Ana’s promise to herself: one day, she would kill Edward Dillinger, Junior with her own hands.  
  
It’ll be so good to see you again, Junior. It’ll be so good to have the last laugh. Well, maybe you were right to laugh at me. I knew it was foolish, I knew you were out of my league — smarter than me, hell, prettier than me, but your attentions made me so happy, and I took a leap of faith … No more. No more risks. I have become very risk-averse, Junior. Except I don’t care about the jury. I’ll be your judge and jury, Junior. Then I’ll indulge in a little cruel and unusual punishment. And before I execute you, I’ll tell you how much bigger Clu’s cock is than yours.


End file.
